Between Nothing and Everything
by katnisstiel
Summary: Since Castiel's escape from Purgatory, the change in his and Dean's relationship hasn't gone unnoticed by Sam. With Dean's hardly surprising refusal to discuss where he and Cas stand, Sam uses every moment he can to observe and try to put the pieces together himself. (Oneshot.)


"Dean, I'm fine!"

Sam threw a glance over his shoulder, surprised at Castiel's sudden agitation. Dean seemed equally taken aback, freezing with his hands hovering over Cas's body as if debating whether or not it would be wise to make contact. His hesitation was gone in a second, of course, and he was back to fussing.

His brother had insisted on sitting with Cas in the back seat of the Impala to monitor his injuries. The nest of vampires from several miles back had managed to do a number on all of them before they'd ganked the last of 'em. This was an old routine for the Winchesters, and far from the worst they'd seen, but Cas was a different story. He lacked experience, and though Dean was terrible at hiding his delight at Cas's presence on their hunts, he worried relentlessly.

It didn't take a genius of a hunter to see that Cas's angel mojo wasn't what it used to be. How many months had it been since he was last in Heaven? _Shit, _Sam thought in sudden realization. _More like how many years... _One and a half? Two? The days kept ticking by, and Sam was aware of the concern that darkened his brother's face each time powers Cas couldn't use would come in handy. Strangely, Dean seemed even more distressed in the moments when Cas behaved exceptionally human-like — utilizing a gesture common amongst people, or attempting a pop culture reference and actually getting it right. Sam knew it wouldn't be a smart move to ask, but he couldn't understand why it was a cause for alarm. The idea of Cas growing a soul and joining the ranks of humans, the way Anna had, didn't seem troubling to him. I mean, wasn't that something Dean would want? He'd lost his friend enough times. He deserved to have Cas's presence set in stone, or at least not at risk of being interfered with by dick angels.

As for Cas, he didn't seem particularly interested in seeking out his brethren or otherwise even trying to return to Heaven. Sam noted that he'd never seen Cas smile before his escape from Purgatory three months ago, and now, a day didn't go by without a flash of straight white teeth, genuine grins paired with shining eyes. It was weird, almost — another all-too-human action — and hearing his laugh was even more foreign. Anything further than a low, quiet chuckle was still rare, but Sam would never forget the night he returned to their motel room to see Dean and Cas on the couch, wrestling over possession of the TV remote, and Cas bursting with uncontrollable laughter. If Sam hadn't known any better, he'd say Dean had been tickling the angel, but they'd noticed his arrival and composed themselves before he'd gotten a better look. This gap of time they'd dedicated to run-of-the-mill hunts, allowing themselves to pretend for awhile that Crowley and Kevin and the damn Word of God were irrelevant, had to have been the closest to peace Cas had ever been. When Sam thought about it...after what he guessed was eons of battle, the likes of which would probably shock him despite all he'd seen, Dean wasn't the only one who deserved comfort.

The two had been practically impossible to separate since Cas's return, and since then, Cas had learned the ropes of a human lifestyle. He'd tried enough variations of food to form preferences, with cheeseburgers still being his favorite. He'd begun commenting on the songs Dean blared on the Impala's radio, and the more the same classic rock was repeated, the more they'd hear him saying things like, "Turn this one up!" Some movies he barely looked away from, and others made him scoff. Small, random human habits had become intertwined with his daily life, like the way he'd lift a hand to drag his fingers through his hair when presented with a challenge, or raise his eyebrows in playful disbelief if Dean insisted something Cas apparently knew wasn't true. His interactions with Sam's brother had grown noticeably more intimate, but the one time he'd been brave enough to prod at Dean about it, it had resulted in raised voices and a shove against the wall, and so he tried to stay out of it the best he could. Cas was Dean's best friend, after all — and if they pulled each other in by the waist or rested one's forehead against the other's temple, Sam pretended not to notice.

"Dammit, Cas, hold still!"

Sam visibly jumped in the driver's seat, torn away from his thoughts. He directed his eyes to the rearview mirror, where he was met with the reflection of Dean struggling to unbutton Cas's shirt. Blood had soaked through the white fabric around his chest and stomach, and when Dean finally managed to expose the skin underneath, the darkness of night didn't make the oozing slashes near Cas's left shoulder and below his bellybutton any less noticeable.

"That fang sure knew how to work a knife," Sam offered, rolling his eyes when Dean shot an annoyed glare into the mirror. "Hey, man, it could've been a lot worse."

"Exactly, Sam," Dean replied roughly, his eyes remaining focused on the bunched-up rags he'd pressed to Cas's wounds. "We can't keep taking him on these gigs."

"I can decide that for myself, Dean," Cas retorted, though his voice was soft. "I'm tired of having this discussion. If I can help —"

"You can help by not getting yourself killed." Sam glanced back to the mirror at the break in his brother's voice, unsurprised when the same expression of anxious caring was present in Dean's face. The space between his eyebrows was creased with it, his eyes searching Cas's for something Sam couldn't name.

Cas, however, remained unfazed. "There's no less of a threat posed to you and Sam. It's no different."

"Of course it's different! It's —" Anger surged through Dean's voice before he stopped short and Sam saw him pull away.

"I just mean," Cas continued after a tentative pause, "that you're taking the same risk as I am."

Sam flicked his eyes from the road to the mirror and back, waiting for his brother to relax. As Dean's eyes finally found their way back to Cas, he gently grabbed the angel's hands and placed them over the reddened rags he'd returned to Cas's lacerations, silently instructing him to hold them in place.

"Yeah. And look how many times I've died."

That, at least, evoked a huff from all of them and a quirked corner of Cas's mouth. In the midst of the tension, it was the closest they'd probably get to laughing.

"Look, Cas, if you're really serious about this..." Maybe Dean had been about to finish with something more somber, but if he had, he instead decided on, "The outfit's not helping. You know how you stay out of harm's way? You _move out _of harm's way. Fast. How are you supposed to do that in this whole tax accountant getup?"

Sam saw Cas's gaze fall defensively to his clothes, eyes widening at the sight of his blood-stained trench coat. He smirked — Cas would be the type to get upset over a laundry fiasco.

"Yeah, the trench coat too," Dean continued teasingly. "Maybe that's a sign that it's time to trade it in for some normal clothes."

"I like it."

All Sam needed to see before opting to keep his focus on the road was Dean leaning in close to brush Cas's ear with his lips, whispering what sounded like, "Good."

* * *

By the time they reached their motel, Sam was thankful that Cas's mojo hadn't yet completely fizzed out. The amount of blood he'd lost could have been considered dangerous if he was human, but the healing strength he still possessed would most likely leave him without even a scar. He'd removed the clothing from his torso entirely, his trench coat sitting in the passenger seat a safe distance away from the blood, and Dean using the white dress shirt in place of the drenched rag he'd since retired.

"Are we in the clear, Sammy?" Dean called from the back seat, trying to see past Cas and out through the car window.

Sam glanced around the parking lot, though at 11:30 at night, he doubted they'd be at risk of anyone finding them in their disheveled state. "I think we're good."

Opening the door and grabbing Cas's trench coat, he stepped out onto the pavement. Dean immediately followed, and together, they helped ease Cas out and onto his feet, slinging each one of his arms over their necks. Dean's hand rushed to clutch Cas's side as the angel groaned and stumbled over his own feet.

"We got ya, Cas. We're almost there."

Slowly but surely, they made their way to the room they'd booked earlier that day. Sam fumbled briefly with the key, having to stuff Cas's coat in-between his hip and elbow, before unlocking and opening the door. Cas planted his feet firmly on the ground and dangled his arms back at his sides, shoving Sam and Dean away when they leaned in to support him and staggering determinedly to one of the beds. He sat down heavily on the floral-printed comforter, eliciting a squeaky protest from the mattress beneath him.

Dean shrugged as he exchanged glances with Sam. "What can I say? He's tough for a little nerd angel."

Sam breathed out a laugh. He shut the door behind them as Dean entered the room, heading straight for the bathroom with Cas's once-white shirt in hand. Sam set Cas's trench coat down next to him on the bed, wincing as he stretched out his scraped-up arm. "There you go, Cas. You sure you're alright?"

Blue eyes fixed themselves on him, the ageless knowledge swimming in their depths making Sam as uncomfortable as they never ceased to. "Yes. Thank you for your concern."

"No problem." He raised his hand to pat Cas's shoulder, but thought better of it at the sight of the gash on his chest up close. Both cuts were still bleeding, though considerably less than they had been, and Sam assumed Cas's healing process had already begun.

Dean was back with wetted towels and the first aid kit from his duffel. "Bathroom's free, Sammy," he informed, jerking his head in the direction of the doorway he'd exited from.

Sam paused for a moment before catching on. "Right — uh, thanks." He gave Cas a small smile before leaving them to tend to his own abrasions.

Alone in the bathroom, he was aware for the first time since they'd left the vampire nest of the extent of his injuries. His left arm was throbbing, and when he gingerly removed his flannel button-down, it was as cut and skinned as he'd expected it to be from the skidding-across-the-ground move that had seemed smart at the time. (When a pissed-off vampire is lunging at you, there aren't many options at your disposal.) He had a limp in his right leg, the result of a sprained ankle at worst, his bottom lip was split, and he'd feel every bruise in the morning. This was luxury compared to the pain he'd experienced before, however, and certainly nothing he couldn't put up with for a few days. Grabbing the last remaining hand towel on the rack by the sink, he wet it under the faucet and began mopping the blood from his arm. He was none too concerned with his own minor injuries, so after a few minutes, he let his eyes drift out of the bathroom to instead see how Cas was doing.

The door was still open plenty wide enough for Dean and Cas to be in plain view. His brother, sitting to Cas's right on the bed, seemed to finally be content with the amount of blood flow he'd thwarted, putting the red-blotched towels down beside him. He leaned in close to the gash that was nearest, shaking his head and remarking, "Gotta sew you up."

Cas gawked at him. "That's unnecessary. I'll be healed by tomorrow, Dean — and you should let me heal that cut head of yours as well. I can't imagine that's a good place to be bleeding out of."

"No place is good to be bleeding out of, Cas," Dean huffed, already reaching for the first aid kit on the floor.

Cas shot a hand out and grabbed him by the wrist, his speed betraying no sense of the weakness that had hindered him less than fifteen minutes ago. Blue eyes locked with green, he slowly guided Dean back to sitting upright, and Sam couldn't help his internal snickering as they held the gaze for several more seconds before Cas finally released his vice on Dean's wrist. He placed the same hand softly on the side of Dean's head, thumb breaking the line of blood that had trickled down the hunter's temple. Sam saw his brother wince and guessed Cas's fingertips had found the wound hidden inside his hair, but a mere instant later, white-blue light was tracing Cas's skin and seeping into Dean's skull. Removing his hand, Cas used two fingers to wipe away the remaining stream of blood, mouth parting and corners turning upwards with the hint of a smirk. "I'm not entirely useless yet."

Dean's eyes widened slightly. "That's not what I —" He paused, his hand finding Cas's waist as a smile warm with affection grew on his lips. "You could never be useless, alright?" He reached across Cas's lap to grab his folded-up trench coat, pressing it into Cas's chest until he took it. "And don't you _ever _stop wearing this shitty trench coat."

Sam's heart lurched as Dean began closing the distance between his and Cas's mouths, whirling around clumsily and banging very unsubtly into the door frame.

"You alright there, Sammy?"

He was met with a smirk from Dean, his brother's eyebrows raised knowingly. "Yep, all good."

Dean put his hands on his knees to heave himself up. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna sleep like a friggin' baby with visions of dead sons of bitches dancing in my head."

"You're comparing vampires to a Christmas poem? Really, Dean?"

"I'm a deep dude."

While Sam rolled his eyes, Cas had nothing _but _eyes for Dean's every movement, expression filled to the brim with adoration even as Dean flopped back onto the bed and expelled an unflattering burp.

Maybe, Sam considered, it had always been this way and he'd simply never noticed. He knew that wasn't the case, but Dean reacted poorly whenever Sam acknowledged that it wasn't. This 'we don't talk about it' method of handling the change between him and Cas wasn't surprising by any stretch — a classic Dean Winchester move if ever there was one. And you know what? Sam would let him have it. He would look the other way and play dumb, allowing Dean and Cas their tastes of burdenless peace before the hell better known as their lives swept them up again. As far as Sam knew, Dean had never been graced with that chance to relish in aimless love, to float weightlessly between nothing and everything. Regardless of what this was or how long it stood to last, the reality was that Cas had stayed. Years worth of nightmares and here he was, back at Dean's side. That damn near unrivaled devotion was enough to convince Sam that whatever the future held for the angel and his brother, there was, indeed, a future.

He went to bed that night pretending not to notice when Cas crawled out of his cot and joined Dean under the covers.


End file.
